Fireside Fighters
by Rotfang-Conspiracist
Summary: A series of drabbles/drabble-like stories, from the point of view of the Gryffindor fireplace. For shiftingful's 'Perspectives' challenge. Spans time randomly, not chronologically.
1. Hope

**AN: This is going to be a series of drabbles. For shiftingful's perspectives challenge. They are all going to be from the point of view of the Gryffindor Fire. **

**Fireside Fighters**

**1 - Hope**

I survey the room of children, usually laughing, studying, eating…

They are a bedraggled bunch.

Someone else is gazing around to, eyes glowing with compassion-fuelled anger.

He stands. 'Gryffindor,' he calls, long and loud, penetrating the lurking tension. 'I feel that, as it is now halfway through the term, we ought to have… have a party.' He trailed off, watching as the crowd looked at him in confusion. There was a long, awkward silence.

'I agree.' He looked down gratefully, where a girl with curly brown hair is standing, her dark-skinned friend rising to join her. 'These firsties haven't experienced a true Gryffindor party yet.'

'Thanks Lavender,' he says. 'So, erm, what do you all think.'

Two boys with mousy brown hair, obviously brothers, glance at one another before starting up a long loud cheer. The rest of the house joins in, tentative at first, and then a roaring, lingering wave of noise.

When the cheering dies, the boy speaks again, with much more confidence than before. 'Anyone got any food?'

'Leave that to me! Fred and George didn't let me come back to school without a little bit of crucial knowledge,' says a girl with flame-hair. 'C'mon Demelza,' she mutters to the girl next to her.

'Hey Neville,' shouts a boy with a strong Irish accent. 'I don't know whether this will help, but I might just happen to have some firewhiskey up in the dorm.'

Neville's face lights up, 'how the hell did you manage that?'

'What you don't know, can't hurt you,' he says with an cheeky grin.


	2. Belonging

**Fireside Fighters**

**2 - Belonging**

'Well if it isn't Minerva, nose-in-a-book.'

One of them prods her with a fat finger, and I see her lips thin, nostrils flare, but they see nothing through their clouded eyes.

'Yeah, you should be in Ravenclaw,'

'She's in the wrong house, let's send her back.'

'She doesn't belong here.'

And she's standing, wand drawn, before they've even blinked.

'I belong here,' she says in an icy voice, to cold for eleven, 'because I am not afraid of you.'

She twitches her wand and glares her furious glare.

They turn tail and run.

She allows herself a faint smile. Sits down, about to open her book again when someone joins her.

'That was so cool.'


	3. Liberty

**Fireside Fighters**

**3 - Liberty**

The house elves are in for cleaning, and I am low to my embers.

'What is this?' asks one of the elves, holding up a small woollen… thing.

Another elf, wearing an odd assortment of clothes, moves over to inspect it.

'It is looking like a hat, Plinky' he says brightly.

Plinky looks aghast. 'No it is not looking like a hat. It is absolutely not not looking like a hat. It must be a…a,'

'Maybe a sock!' says the clothed elf, sounding even more excited than before. 'Maybe this means you is free, like me, and is knitting each other socks for Christmas, and…'

'IT IS NOT A SOCK.'

The other elf jumps back, falling over the table in surprise.

'It is not being a sock, it is not looking like a hat, and I is not cleaning Gryffindor tower again, not ifs they are leaving things that might be clothes around. It is not right for a house-elf to deal with clothes.'

'But…'

Plinky walks out of the room. The other elf looks around, then carefully places the thing upon his head. He smiles, and continues tidying the room.


	4. Control

**Fireside Fighters**

**4 - Control**

'It's all gone wrong, it's all gone so damn wrong,' said the small girl with flame hair. She was rocking back and forth, clutching a small black book.

'Oh God, I'm scared. This wasn't meant to happen at all. I was supposed to make friends, have fun, do some work, not find myself lost and confused and covered in… red paint.'

She glanced up at the stairs, fear etched into her wide eyes and pale face.

She turned back to the book, looking down at it.

'I won't,' she said, in a tiny voice.

'I won't,' she repeated, a bit louder.

She sat up, drew in her breath, and said in a voice of steel, 'I won't be used.'

And with that, she ran out the room.


	5. Aid

**Fireside Fighters**

**5. Aid**

There was a man walking slowly round the room, fingers trailing over the backs of armchairs, lingering on the faded tapestries. Nostalgia tour.

With him there is a fire-bird, who comes over to greet me.

He bows before me, and I lower my flames a little.

'So, what brings you to this place?'

'I came with the man. He is my companion nowadays.'

I wonder at this, for it is rare that my proudest sons familiarise with anyone.

'Why don't you wander free?'

He laughed, low and musical, a sound that delighted even me, his mother.

'I could ask the same of you.'

I look around the room, usually filled with the happy chatter of children, protected from the harsh realities of the world, if only for a little while.

'They need me,' I reply.

He nods. 'As he needs me. He has earned my loyalty. And he will fight the coming darkness, much to his own heartache.'


End file.
